


Earning His Reward

by RosalindInPants



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Body Worship, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, F/M, Kinktober 2020, Lactation Kink, Naked Male Clothed Female, Pregnant Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26382067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalindInPants/pseuds/RosalindInPants
Summary: Pregnancy has changed Khalila's body, and Dario is very, very happy with that.Filling the Day 8 prompts from Maz's kinktober list: Clothed Female/naked male | Goddess Worship | Lactation
Relationships: Dario Santiago/Khalila Seif
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Earning His Reward

"You like them better now that they're bigger, don't you?" Khalila asked, running her fingers through her husband's loose curls. 

Dario looked up from where he lay curled against the bulge of her belly, letting her nipple slip from his lips. A drop of pale milk welled up in his mouth's absence and rolled away. "It isn't only the size, _querida_ , although I admit I cannot complain about that." He punctuated that statement by cupping one hand around her other breast, still covered by the pale green silk of her nightgown. What had once fit easily in his closed hand now forced him to spread his fingers wide for any hope of encircling it.

"Oh?" she asked. "What do you like better than the size, then?"

He extended his tongue to lap up the dripping milk in a long, slow stroke, followed by a licking of his lips that had to be exaggeration. "The taste, of course. Your skin has always been sweet on my tongue, my queen, but now..." he paused to circle her nipple with his tongue. "Now your breasts have turned to a fine delicacy that I can scarce believe I am worthy of sampling."

So he was in that kind of mood, was he? Awkwardly, Khalila pushed herself upright against the pillows heaped on the bed, moving her breast out of her husband's reach. "Perhaps you need to earn it, then."

Dario took the hint. A smile spread across his face as he slithered down to the foot of the bed, where he knelt at her feet, head bowed as if in prayer. "Tell me, then, Madonna, how I may prove my worth," he said with soft reverence.

He made a lovely display like that, one that Khalila ignored entirely while she got herself comfortably seated. No easy task, that. At this late stage of pregnancy, her body had become a cumbersome thing, stretched and swollen out of its usual proportions. Her hips protested many positions she'd once found comfortable, and her child was prone to complaints as well, often asserting preferences with elbows to her bladder and kicks to her ribs. Tonight, at least, the little one stayed asleep and merely shifted inside her as she reclined against her stacked pillows and stretched out her legs. The loose fabric of her nightgown bunched around her knees, but she couldn't quite reach to smooth it out all the way. No matter. Dario would be moving it out of the way soon enough. She did, however, tuck her loose breast back into the bodice of the gown; it wouldn't do to let him think he would earn his reward too easily.

Only when she was settled did she allow herself to take in the sight before her. Perfectly still, Dario awaited her command. He knelt in the form they'd chosen for informal use, with his hands behind his back and his legs parted to show his growing arousal. Khalila took her time admiring him, licking her lips while her eyes wandered over bronzed skin, though not for quite so long as she used to do before becoming pregnant. Allah had seen fit to bless her with an increased appetite for her husband during pregnancy, and it wasn't long before she felt an impatient warmth between her legs, urging her to do more than look.

Slowly, as gracefully as was possible, Khalila lifted a foot. "My feet are sore," she said in an imperious tone honed by endless meetings with fools who thought they could get the better of a young Archivist. The number of those had only increased with the size of her abdomen, as if carrying a child would make her soft.

"Allow me to attend to them, then, my lady," Dario said. Taking her foot in his hands, he bowed to kiss her toes, one by one.

Since he was looking down, she let herself smile at the tickle of his beard as he kissed his way to her ankle. She got her commanding frown back in place in time to glower down at him when he raised his eyes. His head dipped again, a hint of color rising in his cheeks, and he set to work massaging the sole of her foot. By now, he was very good at it, having practiced frequently over the past weeks. Aching feet were, the Medica assured her, a perfectly normal symptom of pregnancy. There was nothing to be done about it but wear sensible shoes and offer Dario more frequent opportunities to serve her.

He enjoyed it. That much was obvious. Her foot blocked her view of his groin, but his face told her enough. He focused entirely on his task as if he had never done anything more important than rubbing the tension from the arch of her foot, a reverence in his dark eyes that bordered on blasphemous.

"You're imagining me as some ancient goddess again, aren't you?" she asked. That was something he liked to do, and so long as they were clear that it was merely a fantasy, she saw no harm in it.

"Hmm. Must I choose only one to compare you to?" he replied, kissing her foot before setting it down on a pillow.

With a raised eyebrow, she lifted the other foot for him.

He took it in his hands like a sacred relic and said, "Pregnant queen that you are, Hera might be the most fitting. But you are fertile as Demeter, beautiful as Aphrodite, powerful and intelligent as Athena. You are all of them and more." His lips moved over her foot as he spoke, punctuating each statement with soft kisses while his thumbs sought the sore and tender places in need of his ministrations.

All Greek goddesses this time. Well, the nightgown she wore did have something of a Grecian style to it, so that was fitting. She wouldn't tell him that, though, not when he so clearly needed to be challenged. "Flattery earns you no merit, my prince."

Dario looked up to meet her eyes. "It is no flattery. I am neither priest nor imam, but would it not be accurate to say that you are a being of divine creation, my queen? Surely that is a thing at least as worthy of honor as a goddess of old, is it not?"

Bold of him to appeal to theology. Were she in a more pedantic mood, Khalila might have argued it simply for the sake of arguing, but she was far more in the mood to give a sly smile, hook her toes under his chin and say, "An interesting thesis. I would have you prove it through practical demonstration, if you can."

"As you wish, my queen." He bowed his head in acknowledgment of the order, but he otherwise didn't move. With his lips against her toes, he asked, "Do I have your leave to conduct this demonstration in a manner of my choosing?"

Such excellent behavior tonight; he knew her preferences so well. She wanted very much to run her fingers through his artfully tousled curls, reward him with a little pull, perhaps, but leaning so far forward was no longer an option. Instead, she shifted her legs farther apart and said, "By all means, do."

"Consider, then," he said, cupping one hand beneath her calf to lift her shin to his lips, "the perfection of these legs. These lithe muscles that you employ with such skill in fencing and in dancing. This soft skin that is such a pleasure to kiss, and this delicate hair that tickles my lips so delightfully as I do so."

He illustrated the statement with a flurry of kisses up and down Khalila's leg that made her giggle as much as his words. Leave it to Dario to rhapsodize over something as trivial as leg hair.

"You would laugh at me, Madonna?" he said, looking up to meet her gaze not with the playful look she'd expected, but with solemn adoration. "I am no Alexandrian. Where I come from, we see no detriment in the hair on a beautiful leg."

"I could say the same," she replied, tapping the hairless skin of his chest with her toes. "But given the time you devote to your waxing, my dear prince, you must forgive my doubts as to your sincerity on that point."

"Our grooming rituals are different, that is true," Dario said, and rubbed his cheek against her leg, eyes half closing in evident pleasure. "Most days, I do not devote the time to painting my lips or lining my eyes that you do. Would you say I am less attractive for it?"

As if anything could make Dario less attractive. He was unreasonably handsome even after coming home sweaty from the gym or grimy from visiting Thomas in the workshop. A touch of kohl did make his eyes stand out when he wore it, but he was no less appealing to her without it. "A fair point," she conceded, favoring him with a smile.

"Thank you, my queen." He kissed his way up to her knee and stopped here, lips pressed to the hem of her gown.

Had he lingered even a second longer, Khalila might have thrown her legs open and urged him upward to sate the growing pulse of her desire, but by the time her impatience surged, he was already moving away, leaving a trail of kisses down her leg. She let out a groan that was equal parts frustrated and glad. He'd learned so well how delayed gratification pleased her.

Between kisses, he said, "Now, let us speak of these ankles. Please, my lady, do not interrupt. I am fully aware that they are bloated and their current shape displeases you. Think, though, of the bones beneath, the perfection of their shape and the way they fit together. Surely we can admire the creator's hand in such work. " Softly, his fingers stroked the lines of her bones as he spoke. "And even in their swelling, might we not see divine providence? Might we not admire the ways in which your body has been designed to adapt to the task of creating life?"

Intellectually, she had a counterargument for each point he'd made. Physically... ah, that was another matter. Hard not to feel the work of Allah's own hand in the shaping of the flesh Dario so reverently kissed. He laid the one leg down and lifted the other like it was one of the relics of his saints. And slowly, so slowly, much too slowly, he leaned in, the muscles of his bronzed shoulders rippling exquisitely, to kiss the back of her heel. From there, he licked his way up the back of her calf in a slow stroke that stopped right at the ticklish spot behind her knee.

Her leg kicked out. She couldn't help it. She laughed, and he laughed with her.

"Might I, perhaps, comment on the speed of your reflexes?" Dario said with a wink. "Ah, but you have granted me entry into far greater mysteries."

So she had. That kick had flung the skirt of her nightgown up, leaving much of her thigh exposed. Khalila saw no reason to disagree with her husband's interpretation of things, rather, she took it as an opportunity. Grinning, she tugged the skirt of her nightgown higher up, baring her thighs entirely. "Enter, then, and prove your worth."

"Gladly," he said, moving up on the bed to kneel between her parted legs. Undoubtedly, it was deliberate planning on his part that gave her such an excellent view of his erection as he moved. Even more so his choice to raise his excellently-shaped posterior into the air as he bent to nuzzle her inner thigh. Both his hands kneaded her thigh as he said in a low voice that vibrated against her skin, "I must note that here, too, I find muscles in fine condition. Such power you conceal in your small frame, my lady. But such softness, too. I might use these legs as pillows and sleep in bliss. Ah, and these..." he traced first a fingertip, then his tongue along one of the pale stretch marks that had been growing over the past months.

Khalila shivered under his touch, so close to the place she truly wanted him. Such an exquisite edifice of desire he constructed in her, built to such height that she waited with eager anticipation for his next words, however unlikely the subject.

"These," Dario said, continuing the delicious application of fingers and tongue between words, "Are the strokes of a painter's brush, ornamentation befitting a being so exalted as yourself. The skin shines like mother of pearl. The finest of paints could not produce such an effect."

Flattery. Blatant flattery, and she adored every word of it. And he knew it, her silver-tongued husband, applying that most talented part of himself right at the tops of her thighs, so close to the part of her that burned with desire for him.

He turned his head to lick the opposite thigh.

Silky curls brushed against labia already unfurling like petals.

It was all she could take. Those tantalizing curls were within reach now, and she seized them in both hands, directing his mouth to where it was needed. "Your final test," she panted.

"Yes, my lady," he said, and thankfully said no more.

On other occasions, she had allowed him to wax lyrical on his admiration of her vulva, but she had no patience for that. She hardly had patience for the teasing of his tongue on outer lips, the skin of them bare and sensitive from the grooming he had done for her earlier when he served her in the bath. He'd done a pretty job of it as she watched in the mirror, leaving a neatly-trimmed patch of hair on her mound and the rest shaved away to facilitate this very act. For as long as she could, she held her hips still, letting him magnify her desire until her body no longer obeyed her mind, and her hips wriggled to put her clitoris in the path of his tongue.

Dario, better trained, knew to draw back. She'd granted no exception to the rule that neither of them climaxed without her order, and he would not take advantage of her body's lack of restraint. "I await your command, Madonna," he murmured into her folds, then sucked one of her inner lips into his mouth, flicking his tongue over her skin in a rapid rhythm that made it hard to think, let alone wait. He didn't hold her down - he would never be so presumptuous - but both his hands did take a firm grip on her bottom, massaging.

Khalila cried out in frustrated need, but she mastered herself. Deep, slow breaths while she savored the urgency of the hot pulse radiating outward from her groin. Eyes forced open to take in the beautiful sight of her husband's nude body between her legs. She let the climax build... build...

Yes. There.

"Finish it," she gasped, and immediately cried out as he seized the pulsing nub of her clitoris between his lips and pushed her over the edge.

The first orgasm came like an avalanche, the second like a flood. Dario kept going, bringing on a third, a fourth. He wouldn't stop until she ordered it, and she was in no hurry.

She waited until his soft tongue felt rough as sandstone before she gave the order to stop. Panting, hands shaking, veins awash with fire, she pulled first one breast, then the other, free of her nightgown and said, "Come, my prince, you have earned your reward."

He didn't need to be told twice. A soft kiss on her mound, and he came up to claim his prize, curling around her to take one breast in his mouth and the other in his hand. He sucked lightly on her nipple and let out a sigh of contentment. "Thank you, my queen."

With an indulgent smile, she added, "You may touch yourself. To climax." If those were generous terms, he had earned it. Her body hummed with the aftermath of orgasm; her pulse hammered between her legs. The wet warmth of his mouth on her breast drew out the pleasure of the moment, carrying the warmth from between her legs upward to settle in her chest. The whole room seemed to glow with hazy light.

Dario, especially. His eyes widened, dark irises radiant. "Truly, my lady, you are a benevolent queen. You are an angel sent down from heaven." He adjusted his position to kneel beside her, bent forward to suck on a nipple while his fist pumped on his length. Drops of moisture pearled at the tip and fell onto her skin in testament to his excitement.

He didn't last long, but then, she hadn't asked him to. Left to his own devices, he rarely exercised patience. His body went rigid with his climax, and he let out a soft grunt as he spilled himself over her breast. "Thank you," he panted. "Truly, Madonna, thank you."

Smiling, she stroked his curls. He was so beautiful when he wore himself out for her. "I should thank you, dear prince, for that most satisfying performance. You have done well. Clean up and come rest with me."

"Yes, my lady," he said, and put his tongue to work once more.


End file.
